Kin and Kind
by Yve
Summary: Is Neville losing his mind? In the wake of a heinous crime he is haunted by spectral little girl that no one else can see. Is she the tragic ghost of Draco Malfoy's recently murdered daughter, or are things not quite as they seem? *Work in Progress, Comments Welcome*
1. Chapter 1

Kin and Kind

Yve (Formerly Red Bandit the 188th)

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all characters are creative property of J.K. Rowling.

Chapter One: Missing

A pale grey light fell upon the emerald carpet. It had not yet rained, but the bruised clouds piled on the horizon, threatening to unleash a deluge at any moment. The splendor of the manor seemed muted and dulled in the premature dusk, like some spectral dust had settled on every surface. Narcissa Malfoy absently picked up a spoon from the fully set dining table and rubbed it against her sleeve, but even the meticulously kept silver refused to gleam. With a sigh, she set it back down. She didn't bother to light the candles on the table with her wand, she doubted anyone would feel up to a meal after the day's ordeal. The china rattled weakly as she grabbed the fine tablecloth, clutching its edge in her fist until her knuckles turned white.

As soon as she and Lucius had gotten Draco's owl, they'd apparated directly to the manor. Lucius, only comfortable when he was in control, immediately left with their irate son for London, where Draco's daughter had last been seen. Narcissa was to wait at the manor for Scorpius to return from his search at the train station.

Lacerta Malfoy was supposed to return from her stay with the Zabini family by Floo powder, but when Blaise had stopped their journey in London to pick up a package, Lacy simply vanished. Blaise had searched the area with his sons for hours before sending word to Draco, by which time, Draco had frantically written them, the little girl could have been kidnapped, or worse.

Narcissa sat down in the parlor to stop her aimless pacing. She knew Lucius would be able to find their grandchild, and with Draco and Blaise helping, they'd have her in no time at all. She was just worried for Lacy, and deep down, she worried for her husband and son as well. It had been many years since the war, but their family name was still infamous. People who used to fear and respect them now lorded over them, exacting small revenges upon them whenever they could. Scorpius had faced an onslaught of remonstrations from some of the less forgiving families when he started attending Hogwarts, but luckily his raw talent on the Quidditch feild and gregarious nature allowed him some popularity. He was like Lucius; forcefully popular, confident, and just thick-skinned enough to manage himself under pressure. Elsie was everything her older brother wasn't: she was quiet, sensitive, and easily embarrassed. Her mother, Astoria, had wanted to school Lacy from home, but when she and Draco became estranged, Draco decided to send his daughter to Hogwarts.

Sudden stomping made Narcissa jump,

"Lucius?!" she cried out, running to the front hall, "Draco? Did you find her?" to her disappointment, it was only Scorpius, whose search at King's Cross had been futile.

"Gramma," the sixteen year old smiled weakly and gave Narcissa a quick hug before removing his cloak, "Is she here already?"

"No," Narcissa sighed," Your grandfather and your father are still out looking, no word from them yet." Scorpius grimaced,

"No one at the station saw her, but it was so busy with holiday traffic, maybe she got lost in the crowds." he shook his head, "If anything's happened to her, I'll –" before he could finish his oath, a loud POP came from the parlor, and Lucius's voice called out,

"She's not in London!" he came striding down the hall, his brow furrowed in frustration. Another POP heralded Draco's appearance in the hall.

"Nothing in Hogsmeade," he looked haggard and furious, " I don't know how she could have just—" he broke off with a disgruntled huff as Blaise apparated into the hall as well. Draco's pale face suddenly flushed with red, "HOW COULD YOU LOSE HER!?" he exploded, hand on his wand. Scorpius and Lucius's faces were distorted with anger, and for a moment they looked remarkably similar before they both erupted into yelling.

Narcissa carefully made her way out of the hall as the three Malfoy men accosted Blaise. She knew she'd have to carry on while they vented, so she quietly gathered up her travelling cloak and apparated into Diagon Alley. To her distinct displeasure, she'd appeared only feet away from one of the red-headed Weasleys.


	2. Chapter 2: Firewhiskey

Kin and Kind

Yve

Chapter 2: Firewhiskey

Ron Weasley and Neville Longbottom were not the closest of friends, but when it came to the enjoyment of Firewhiskey they found each other to be quite tolerable company indeed. During their early years as Aurors in the aftermath of the war, they found themselves taking comfort in the drink's warm forgetfulness more than was strictly wise, but about as often as could be expected. While they had surely grown out of their youthful overindulgence over the years, they still enjoyed catching up, however infrequently, over a glass or two, or three.

This cloudy August day had found Neville and Ron in Flourish and Blott's purchasing new textbooks, Ron for his youngest son's fourth year classes, and Neville for his new Herbology class on Northern American Magical Herbs. The pair decided it would about fit the bill to slip into the Leaky Cauldron for a quick drink and chat, and had just stepped back into the blustery street to continue their conversation while Ron kept a lookout for his son.

"I'm telling you, Neville, I could never teach. I've got no idea how you do it! I can barely keep my two on task without losing my bloody head, never mind an entire classroom." Ron sighed and scanned the crowded street for Hugo's shock of red hair as Neville leaned against the brick of the Leaky Cauldron and shook his head.

"It's not all that bad, you know," he chuckled, "And the students aren't the difficult ones, to be sure. Every time I have to hand in curriculum for the new term to Professor McGonnagall it's like first year Transfiguration all over again! I get all nervous and forgetful, I once forgot to label the classes correctly, and almost ended up teaching mandrake repotting to seventh year OWLS." Ron puffed out a short laugh.

"Can't say I envy you there, mate. Harry and me are eternally grateful our homework days are over, though Hermione seems to miss it. She makes up for it, though, all that research she does for the Ministry isn't much different from term papers." he smiled at the thought, and Neville was just about to inquire about the nature of Hermione's research when the air was punctuated by a loud POP. Ron jumped, scattering the bag of books he'd been holding onto the paving stones.

"Bloody hell, watch where you're apparating, you-" Ron whirled around to accost the offending witch, but stopped short upon recognizing Narcissa Malfoy.

"Mrs. Malfoy." Neville squeaked, feeling every muscle in his back tense up at the very sight of her. Ron was appraising her with a hard, cold eye that Neville envied. His nerves had made him childish despite his experience.

Narcissa sniffed derisively at Ron's suspicious gaze, but seemed to think better of her reaction almost immediately. Much to her own surprise, she composed herself quickly, deciding it would be better to have more eyes looking for her granddaughter, even those sizing her up with disdain. She cleared her throat and addressed the two men with as much civility as she could summon.

"Mr. Weasley, Mr. Longbottom, pardon me." she couldn't help but sound a bit icy, but tried to correct herself. Ron eyed her warily. He hadn't seen her in several years, and hadn't missed it. Narcissa pushed through. "Gentlemen, I do not normally...request assistance, but my granddaughter, Lacerta, is missing." She retrieved her wand, and found both men had their wands drawn apprehensively. "Really?" she exclaimed, exasperated, but returned her wand to the folds of her robe, withdrawing instead a small photograph, which she proffered to the uneasy pair. Neville hesitantly stepped forward, lowering his wand, and took the picture.

Lacerta was just shy of 11 in the photo, looking shyly up from behind large, frameless spectacles. She was unmistakably Draco Malfoy's child, with his stormy grey eyes and platinum blonde hair, pulled back into two low braids. She appeared pale, delicate, and altogether too small. Neville offered the picture to Ron before addressing Narcissa.

"How long has she been missing?" his voice didn't betray him this time, and his nerves subsided a little in strange sympathy.

"At least five hours." Narcissa admitted, looking up from her hands, "Have you seen her?" Neville shook his head as Ron handed the picture back to Narcissa.

"No, I'm afraid I haven't. We'll keep an eye out, though," he offered weakly. With that, Narcissa nodded curtly, returned the photograph to her robe pocket, and wordlessly headed into the bustle of the late afternoon crowd.

"I hope she gives them a right little runaround before they find her." Ron huffed, then, upon seeing Neville's confused expression, added "Of course I hope they'll find her, don't get me wrong. It's just a bit of a laugh seeing Mrs. Malfoy asking us for help. Like she was choking on her tongue the whole time. Must've really hurt her ego to ask." He glanced again at Neville and coughed before kneeling down to retrieve his spilled books. "Just odd, is all."

"Yeah. Odd." Neville cracked a nervous smile, and leaned down to help Ron gather the books. They quickly put the tomes aright and stood in uncomfortable silence for a beat before Ron suddenly bellowed over the crowd.

"HUGO! Hugo, you wool-brained billywig, I've already got your books! I swear, that boy's got a head full of gnats sometimes." he shook his head as the gangly 14 year old Hugo emerged from the crowd.

"Sorry, Dad, got distracted at Uncle George's." Hugo bumbled, nearly dropping an armful of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes Quacking Quills on the ground, "Oh, hullo Professor Longbottom. These quills are definitely not for your class. Definitely not." Neville chuckled as Ron snatched the quills from his son and shoved them into the bag alongside the books.

"Your mother told you not to get any more of those quills, they get mixed in with hers and she ends up taking them to the Ministry. It's very embarrassing to have your quill quacking during a deposition!" Ron chided Hugo, then sighed and clapped Neville on the shoulder, "Looks like that's it for our little chat, mate. We'll be sending an owl, we're overdue for a proper get-together, eh?"

"Yeah, when I'm not playing nanny to these ruffians," Neville winked at Hugo, "See you in class then, Hugo. Do give my best to your mum." Hugo nodded, his unruly mane of curly hair flopping around.

"Send our regards to Hannah, Neville." Ron waved as he steered Hugo back through the crowd. Neville waved back until they were swallowed by the rush, then turned up the road towards Gringotts. He was struck with an odd feeling of pity as he spotted Narcissa Malfoy, not two shops up the street, showing her small photograph to a seamstress outside of Madam Malkin's. Deciding it would be better not to run into her again, Neville turned back towards the ice cream parlor. _Who knows_ , he thought, _the Malfoy girl might be hiding out near Florean's_. Perhaps he'd spot her.


	3. Chapter 3: Soil and Blood

Kin and Kind

Yve

Chapter 3: Soil and Blood

The impending start of term had found Neville more prepared for school than he'd ever been as a student. This was going to be his first year implementing an advanced herbology club for his OWL students, and he was doing his absolute best to prepare exciting and challenging cultivation projects for them. This often meant that Hannah had to extract him, sometimes forcibly, from the mud in their ever-expanding greenhouse in order to get him to eat and answer the owls that came daily from both the school and his dedicated students.

Quite a few of them had taken up their spades over the summer and made their own gardens to continue tending to their year-end Dirigible Plum saplings. Neville had been sure to send each of the students who wrote him for advice little packets of seeds along with his letters. He'd been especially impressed with Katie Chung's inventive use of window boxes, and had made special note to discuss urban gardening techniques with his students this year. It was simply brilliant, he gushed to Hannah, showing her the stationary photos Katie had sent him, how she had suspended the boxes so cleverly in order to take advantage of the limited sunlight coming through her apartment window.

"She's a very clever girl, Katie," he smiled proudly as he propped one of the oddly still pictures against the jar of Bubotuber prunings he'd set on the table, "A real green thumb on her, for sure."

"Well she's got a brilliant teacher," Hannah ruffled his hair as she set a mug of tea in front of him. Neville blushed and mumbled away the compliment, taking another letter from the considerable stack in the middle of the cluttered table. He recognized the hand writing immediately.

"Hannah, you never said Harry wrote us," he lifted the red wax seal from the parchment and unfolded the letter as Hannah turned back to the laundry she had been folding.

"I didn't notice. He usually sends a snowy owl, I think I'd've remembered that." she mused, tucking one particularly obnoxious holly-green argyle sock around it's pair. She didn't much care for the socks Neville's grandmother sent them every year for Christmas, and was just pondering how to conveniently lose this pair when she heard Neville's sharp intake of breath. She turned to see that his face had gone pale. "Nev, dear, what's wrong? What did Harry say?"

Neville didn't speak, but handed his wife the short note, and put his face in his hands. Hannah placed a hand on his shoulder and read:

 _Neville,_

 _Wanted to let you know before news gets out. Malfoy girl confirmed dead. Very disturbing. Ron and I are assigned to the case, wanted to know if you could answer a few questions about your encounter with Narcissa Malfoy. Wouldn't ask, but case indicates powerful dark magic, need your expertise on combustible edibles. What a horrible mess._

 _-Harry_

"Combustible edibles? But why would-" Hannah stopped her query suddenly as Neville looked up at her, face grey and drawn. "Oh. Oh no."


	4. Chapter 4: The Cloak

Kin and Kind

Yve

Chapter 4: The Cloak

Lucius Malfoy had seen unspeakable horrors, but even he was not prepared for this. His son dropped to his knees on the Ministry's stone floor and retched as soon as they'd revealed the evidence for identification. Lucius had to identify it for them while one of the Aurors hauled Draco into a chair and took care of the mess. He had to stop himself from gagging as he touched the fine emerald silk cloak he himself had bought for her, scorched and stained brown with blood and caked with hair and, oh god, he couldn't look any more. He remembered her shy smile when she'd tried it on Christmas morning, how she had twirled around in it when she thought no one was watching. He covered his eyes as they started to sting with tears, and turned away quickly from the Aurors, who stood awaiting his answer.

"It's hers." was all he could manage between steadying breaths. They left as soon as possible, Lucius supporting his quivering wreck of a son all the way back to the manor.

Astoria was waiting for them at the fireplace when they arrived by Floo. Her face was grim and hollow as she helped Lucius direct Draco to an armchair. She listened silently to Lucius's report, clutching her husband's hand tightly. She never spoke a word. As Lucius choked on the child's name, Draco sobbed, turning his face into Astoria's arm. She simply stood, pallid and stoic, her eyes empty.

Malfoy Manor had been home to horrors and cowardice, and as he ascended the stairs to the sound of his son's ragged sobbing, Lucius knew the death of his granddaughter was blood on his hands. He didn't know how, but in the fog of his mind he was unshakably at fault.

Draco didn't speak for days, and though Astoria sat with him, neither she nor Narcissa could prevail upon him to eat or sleep. On the third day of Draco's mute stupor, Lucius came to his study and sat with him. Wracked by guilt and self loathing, he couldn't find the words with which to reach out to his son, only inches away.

"Draco," he started, breaking the thick silence of the darkened study, "Draco, we can't...we can't be certain..." but he knew it was futile. The report from the Aurors lay open on the desk before them, confirming the blood was their own. Lucius placed his hand gingerly on Draco's shoulder, a foreign gesture that was no more comforting to either man than if they hadn't touched at all. Draco shrugged his father's hand away and, standing abruptly, walked to the window of the study.

"Leave. Please." his words were scarcely more than a whisper, and no more was needed. Lucius departed the manor, unsure of when he would return, or even if he should.


	5. Chapter 5: Hogsmeade

Kin and Kind

Yve

Chapter 5: Hogsmeade

The second week of term was well underway before Neville had any time to venture off campus for a trip into Hogsmeade. Regular packages from Hannah kept him well fed, above and beyond the school's generous meal plan, but there was something special and nostalgic about going to Honeydukes and getting a butterbeer from the Three Broomsticks. It was odd, being a teacher. He felt perpetually at home and out of place at the same time, walking the same stage but with a completely different cast of characters. Often he missed his classmates, and his first few years found him expecting to see them in their usual places; Harry, Ron, and Hermione crowding around something dangerous and forbidden in the common room, Dean and Seamus stealing longing looks at each other over books in the library, or Luna perched in the window nook overlooking the lake. It almost felt as if he didn't age at all while they all went on to act on different stages, playing new and exciting parts in the wider world. Nostalgia wasn't really the right word for it, it was more like stasis. He hadn't decided quite yet if it was a good feeling.

Today was not a day for pondering that question, however, as he was surrounded by a herd of excited third years on their first Hogsmeade trip.

"Now remember, you have to be back here, right at this spot, before five. BEFORE five, not AT five, do you hear me, Finnegan? Yes, you. Four fourty-five for you." Neville had his wand resting at his throat, amplifying his voice just enough to be heard over the babble of the fourth and fifth years as they walked past the clump of younger students, trying desperately to look mature and nonchalant, the pageantry of slightly older teenagers trying to impress slightly younger teenagers. Neville didn't quite understand it, but then again he had never had much success impressing anyone at that age. "If you have any questions, feel free to find me around Honeydukes. Have fun and be safe, and absolutely no Weasleys Wizard Wheezes, I'm sorry, I don't make the rules on that one, Headmaster's orders! Now go explore!" and with that the third years scattered in every direction like birds after a shot, ostensibly leaving Neville to his own wanderings.

On his way towards Honeydukes he was fortunate enough to break up one fight between two Gryffindors over a bottle cap, remind a sixth year couple that the school guidelines on PDA extended to Hogsmeade trips, direct a rather desperate third year to the nearest bathroom, and assign detention to a pair of Hufflepuffs who would not stop stuffing leaves down each others shirts. By the time he made it to the pastel storefront he had decided that he quite deserved a package of taffy, even though he had sworn he wouldn't get any candy this week. His diet was going terribly. A bell tinkled merrily as he opened the door, allowing a trio of giggling third year boys in before him.

The Hogsmeade trips weren't really supposed to begin before November, but Professor McGonagall had decided it would be a good idea to give the students a bit of a distraction. The news of the young Malfoy's murder had had a rather odd effect on the school. Hogwarts was no stranger to death and tragedy, but Neville had to remind himself, and occasionally other faculty, that this was just from an older viewpoint, a perspective skewed by war and trauma. For many of these students violent death was a generation removed, names with abrupt end dates on family trees, stories softened by age and told by parents misty with loss and regret, but not an actuality. Slytherin House, which had enjoyed a modest resurgence in the past five years, was especially affected by the news. While not many of them actually knew Lacerta, all of the returning students knew Scorpius Malfoy. He was well liked in his house, with a well deserved reputation for his athletic talent and quick wit. Neville himself had initially felt cautious about the boy, but he was like his father in looks only, and was polite and genial, if a bit socially conservative. When news finally broke of his sister's murder he was immediately pulled out of school, only three days into term.

McGonagall had only a brief message prepared for the students that night at dinner. She outlined in no uncertain terms the relevant facts and the Malfoy family's desire for privacy. Her candor and directness were refreshing to Neville, who had never felt comfortable with Dumbledore's vague and cryptic speeches, always hinting around an issue, but rarely addressing it head on. She stressed that any students needing to talk should approach the head of their house, then ended her announcement with a few words that struck Neville as entirely apt in retrospect.

" _Life_ ," she had said, " _is delicate and precious. We cannot afford hate and prejudice a place in our hearts, as it takes the seat of our compassion, our decency, and our humanity."_

The farthest thing from Neville's mind upon receiving word from Harry about the tragedy was to think that the Malfoys deserved such a horrible loss. It was made evident in the days following the announcement at the school that his view was not the prevailing one. Although the vengeful voices were quiet, there were whisperings that the murder was well deserved karma for the family's past transgressions. This kind of talk was strictly discouraged, but it had a way of diffusing through the school until factions started to arise over wounds older than even the oldest students. At first the faculty thought it just an unfortunate debate, but when legacy Slytherins started coming to Professor Slughorn with concerns about their own safety and standing regarding the past actions of their relatives, the staff had to take the situation very seriously. As it was, the killer had yet to be found, and no one knew if the murder was an isolated incident or part of a greater plot for revenge. Professor McGonagall admitted in an emergency faculty meeting that she had feared such a possibility, and advised all professors to be especially diligent and mindful of how their students were speaking and acting.

As it was, Neville was having a hard enough time keeping all of his students names straight in his head, let alone their family histories. Just now he was struggling to remember the name of the third year Ravenclaw lingering in front of the display of chocolate frogs. He was sure she was from his third period Herbology session, and just as he thought he had a grasp on the first letter of her surname, he was distracted by a loud BANG out in the street.

The loud sound and responding shrieks had a wand in his hand a curse on his lips as he bolted out of Honeydukes in the direction of the disturbance. Out in the street red smoke was roiling, obscuring the front of the Three Broomsticks, and a small group of students sat on the cobblestones, blown off their feet by whatever had caused the sound.

" _Ventus!_ " Neville shouted, sprinting forward, as a great wind issued forth from his wand, blasting the smoke away from its source. There on the road, still fuming red, sat a rather stunned looking fourth year, completely plastered in red powder, one end of a crimson Whizzbang in one hand and her wand gripped tightly in the other. Still buzzing with adrenaline from the sound, Neville shook his head and offered a quaking hand to the girl.

"P-p-professor Longbottom, I didn't mean to make it explode," she started as he helped her to her feet, powder flying from her lips with every word "I was just trying to...trying to..."

"Miss Cattermole," Neville snapped, "Are you hurt? What the devil were you doing with that thing?" the fourth year Ravenclaw, obviously still shaken, started to cry, her tears running channels of tan down her red powdered face.

"I just wanted to make it invisible and it b-b-blew u-u-up!" she wailed. The students who had been blown back were just getting to their feet, and other students, drawn in by the sound, were starting to congregate to watch the scene play out.

"Is everyone alright, then? No serious injuries I hope?"Neville looked about at them, then helped the young Miss Cattermole dust herself off. He was not normally so stern, but loud noises always set him on edge. After helping Miss Cattermole gather herself and giving her a short reprimand for trying to conceal a firework, he disbanded the gawking crowd. As the smoke cleared fully, he picked up the other end of the Whizbang and the pieces of paper that had been blown about in the explosion and, seeing no bins nearby, stuffed the bits into his cloak pocket.

His work done and the students back to their afternoon antics, his thoughts turned towards The Three Broomsticks and a calming glass of butterbeer. After all, he still had another three hours of waiting before he gathered up the students and brought them back to the castle, and his head was starting to buzz uncomfortably. As he started towards the storefront something stopped him cold. There in the shadows just inside his peripheral vision was a small figure crouching in the alley between the shops, and it was watching him. Whirling about, wand drawn, Neville found the alley empty, but he could not shake the feeling of eyes on him. Cautiously he turned again towards The Three Broomsticks, but the figure did not appear again in his periphery. Shaking his head, Neville sighed, trying to dispel the tension locked in his muscles. Surely it was nothing.


	6. Chapter 6: Asphodel

Kin and Kind

Yve

Chapter 6: Asphodel

The funeral was brief and private, devoid of all but the most necessary of ceremonies. It was Draco and Astoria's wish that no press be allowed to document the affair, and that only their immediate family be present. There was so little to bury that they had what remained of their daughter cremated and laid to rest in a powder blue urn, her favorite color. Draco's hands trembled as he set the tiny urn into its marble base, then he watched as thin marble vines wound about it in a final embrace. Astoria breathed a last enchantment and delicate blue buds formed along the vine, blossoming into a froth of forget-me-nots. Scorpius stepped forward and placed a wreath of white asphodel at the base of the small pedestal, hot tears running down his pointed nose and splashing on the cool stone. He quickly turned back to his parents, and the small, broken family stood silently together, Draco clutching Astoria's hand and Scorpius's shoulder tightly.

The wind blew cold and comfortless through the manor grounds, and soon only Draco and Astoria remained outside, the rest of the small gathering having filed slowly back into the manor. The pair folded together in a desperate embrace. Neither spoke for the longest time, clinging to the other in a familiar yet long forgone constellation of body and breath and warmth. Draco lifted his head from the hollow of Astoria's shoulder and pressed his forehead against hers.

"Please stay." he whispered, "Please don't leave again."

"Draco," she sighed, but he persisted, pleading.

"I can't do this alone. Scorpius and I need you here." he pulled his face away from hers and met her eyes. "Please stay." She made a small move to step back, but he held her fast, "I'll do anything."

"It's not you, it's never been you." Astoria broke his gaze, treading the same rut they'd been wearing down these past five years.

"I'll ask them to leave, for good." the words, so often said and so rarely meant, carried new urgency. Astoria almost believed them.

"I can't ask that of you." she repeated the old exchange, and normally it would have ended at that, each depressed but ultimately unmoving, but Draco continued.

"You should never have had to ask at all." his grasp on Astoria's shoulders loosened, but she didn't pull away. She met his eyes, searching for sincerity, "I made you a promise, and because I was comfortable and stubborn, I broke it. If I hadn't...maybe... maybe-"

"That's not going to help, Draco." she shook her head in exasperation.

"Nothing will help." he stated, defeated and bitter, dropping his hands from her shoulders. He turned back towards the flowering memorial. His eyes were red and tired from tears that had run themselves dry. He couldn't even cry properly, he thought, clenching his gloved hands into tight fists, as if that would help.

Astoria had never been an overtly emotional person. She found she had trouble expressing what she felt, and now more than ever she wished she could communicate her emptiness and sorrow, to have the words that came so easily to Draco, to cry. She knew it would come, she couldn't force these things to manifest on cue. She felt that doing so would be disingenuous, and if anyone deserved her full and sincere grief it was her daughter. She wouldn't cheat her of that ever, not even in death.

She regarded her husband with pity, and slowly she came into what she knew had to be done. She took his hand, forcing her fingers through the clenched, shaking fist, and stood with him. They gazed upon the marble memorial, foaming with enchanted blossoms. This couldn't be right, Astoria thought, this was some bizarre nightmare. In a sudden rush she had the distinct feeling that her feet had switched places and she was light and pulling away from her own body. She instinctively placed her other hand on Draco's arm to steady herself, and he wrapped his arm about her shoulder and pulled her close to his side under his cloak. After a long moment of steadying silence punctuated only by Draco's deep, controlled breathing, she spoke.

"I'll stay for now. I...I can't just leave her here." her voice broke unexpectedly. Draco drew her in closer, but did not speak. They stood in the cold for a long while.


End file.
